Double back
by Big Twinkie
Summary: After a seemingly innocent trip to 2015 Doc Brown's family is being erased from existence! How? And whatever happened to Marty McFly?
1. Default Chapter

**Double back**

A Back to the Future Story

_What are we when we are alone? Some, when they are alone, cease to exist. _

_-Eric Hoffer_

_I meddled in things that man must leave alone._

_-The Invisible Man_

Prelude

_October 27, 1985_

_Sunday_

_11:00 am_

On any trip something goes wrong. The time Dave got the flu when they were on their way back from the Grand Canyon is a good example. Marty remembered that Dave had threatened to throw him in if he didn't shut up. Naturally Marty didn't listen so Dave picked him up and held him over the side of the fence that kept tourists from falling down the cliff if they got too close. That's some scary shit even if you're not five and Marty screamed bloody murder until Dave put him back down. And of course his parents hadn't seen this display. So when Dave started to get sick Marty was rather glad of it, at least until he threw up in the car.

Marty didn't have time to think about that right now though. A freight train was about to run him over.

Yes, really.

Yet another screwed up, surreal moment in the crazy shit storm his life had become. The horn blared in warning, the vibrations the train made traveling up through the ground and into the floor of DeLorean and then finally to his legs. Yep, that was real enough all right. Marty's heart seemed to stop in his chest when he saw it and all it did was get bigger.

"Oh shit…"

So he did the only sensible thing one can do at a time like this. He opened the door and jumped out of his best friend's time machine.

Yes, really. A time machine.

There was a gust of wind behind him and a terrible screeching of metal and glass. A grinding, like the Delorean was being eaten, not simply ran over. And Marty stumbled a few steps until he fell on the grass nearby, still damp from a light rain that morning and he thought _God, please, I don't want to die_.

But he didn't. He picked himself off the ground, shaky but okay, and watched as the train continue down the tracks. There was a squeal of the brakes but it would be awhile before the train would be able to come to a complete stop. Somebody would want answers when it did.

That wasn't Marty's concern at the moment. After realizing he wasn't about to die any time soon he assessed what was left of the DeLorean, which wasn't much.

As cars go DeLoreans were highly impractical. As a time machine it was unnecessary if all it had to do was go to eighty-eight. Doc could've made one out of Volvo and saved himself some money. That DeLorean in particular had been a real lemon, in Marty's opinion but that was Doc for you. It had to be something flashy and wild. He didn't do anything by halves. It was all or nothing. And there was something about flux dispersal—whatever that meant—but Marty didn't know what that was all about.

Marty stood over what had been the time circuits and flux capacitor. The capacitor flashed and popped briefly until finally it burnt out. This would be the time a cowboy would take his pistol and put his poor horse out of its misery. Sorry ol' fella, nothin' I can do for you now. So long old friend. Pow.

Except that it wasn't a horse, he wasn't really a cowboy, and euthanasia isn't necessary when your horse gets ran over by a train. That never happened to Clint Eastwood if Marty recalled.

Tears suddenly stung his eyes.

"Well, Doc, it's destroyed. Just like you wanted."

Something always goes wrong on a trip. The DeLorean was toast and considering how paranoid Doc was it wasn't likely that he had left a "How to Build a Time Machine" manual lying around. So…basically…Doc wasn't coming back. He was a hundred years from here with no way of making another time machine. And long dead by now, but Marty didn't allow that thought to surface. Right then he was just stunned, looking over the tracks until someone tapped him on the shoulder. It nearly made him jump out of his skin and for a wild second there he thought it would be Doc.

"Are you alright, son? Are you hurt?"

Not Doc. Strangely familiar though. An older gentleman, and there were other people with him that had gotten out of their cars. Two elderly people, a man and a woman. And another woman, younger, maybe the other guy's wife. They had watched him riding on the tracks he thought dimly. Maybe seen the DeLorean appear out of thin air, and then get destroyed.

The younger woman looked down the track from the direction he had come from and then back to him, a spooked expression on her face.

"How…did you _do _t-that?"

"Kid?" the guy asked, shaking him by the shoulder this time. "Do you need help?"

"No," Marty mumbled. All his fault. He had wasted too much time with Buford. Could've walked away from him at the festival and it would've probably been the end of it. Doc could've come back for Clara if he had really wanted to, built another time machine…

"Did you see that, Ma?" Pa said, in a distant voice. A distant, inward look came to his eyes just then. He seemed disturbed, but the old woman shook her head furiously.

"I didn' see nothin'!" she said and marched back resolutely towards the road. "Now get in the car!"

"But Ma, didja just--"

"Otis! I'm going home. Come if ya wan' to. You didn' see nothin' ya hear? We didn't see nothin'!"

"Oh wow," the younger woman brought a hand to her forehead.

"Otis?" Marty asked to no one in particular and then it hit him now that he had really looked at the old man. _Holy SHIT, _he marveled to himself_, it's Peabody! _When he had told him about the "new" name for the mall Doc had just shrugged and smiled.

"_Just think of it as your own private joke with the Universe."_

"_Yeah? Seems like the Universe is laughing at me not with me, Doc."_

Meeting the Peabodys was a strange coincidence but life is full of them. Doc would have called it synchronicity. It turns out the Universe has a weird sense of humor and if you're a good sport you can laugh with it. But for right now all he wanted was to go home.

Home. Yeah, time to go home. He ran all the way back to Lyon Estates.

That day, a red letter date in the history of science, Marty found Jennifer on her porch swing just like he left her in the alternate reality. There was the thing with Needles and a fax that had erased itself, and lots of explaining to do. Then back at the ravine, then Doc's house where he found Einstein and took him home. And that night he and Jennifer had dinner—Mom had made meatloaf again—and they sat there at the table trying to pretend their lives hadn't been changed forever and realizing that, finally, it was over.

They were half right.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Doc and Future Boy

Monday

July 13, 1896

11:38 PM

Emmett Brown placed a hand on cold steel and stood in quiet awe of its power.

Anywhere.

Any time.

His Holy Grail.

So just what, exactly, does the knight do when he finds the great boon? Now that was a problem. Upon reflection giving civilization as it stood in 1985 the power of traveling though time was like giving a three-year-old a loaded gun and hoping for the best.

_Now that you have it, Emmett old son, just what the hell are you going to _do_ with it? _

1985.

Great Scott. He had started to think of it as a destination rather than a time. It was like going to New Jersey now.

Well, no. Eleven years ago, correction—forty-one years ago it had seemed like going to Neptune, except it had caused nothing but disaster and that was why the time machine had ultimately been a failure, not technologically but personally.

He had been reckless, arrogant, so when he found himself stranded in 1885 he accepted his humble pie and ate every bitter slice.

_Having a great time in ol' West, Marty, so don't worry about me. Hope to God you get this. If not… well, oops, sorry about that kiddo._

The next day Marty showed up in town. Emmett had lightly admonished the kid for it, but had not been terribly surprised. That he had actually received the letter at all was the amazing thing, but Emmett had hoped that after seeing that retched alternate reality Marty would heed his warnings and use it only to go home.

He hadn't of course. Marty had proven once again he was willing to gamble the universe to rescue some crusty old man. Go figure.

As for Marty, it was difficult to describe what he had meant to Emmett. He was the Messenger of Hope, the Prophet of Doom, the Call to Adventure, and the kid who only wanted to go home. There had been times after that eventful week in 1955 that Emmett wondered if there had ever been a Marty McFly at all. In fact, he had found himself on the living room floor with a massive hangover on November 14th and had dismissed it as an imaginative dream.

Then he rediscovered the letter and the photographs of the Time Machine, for archival purposes _of course_…and one of Marty himself. He was smiling at the camera, but it was strained, much like his optimism and good humor during that time. When you managed to observe "Future Boy" without his knowledge however he had a haunted expression on his face and you knew—k_new _by the way he _looked_ at you_—_that the fate of Emmett Brown, aged 65, factored in there somewhere on his list of dire concerns. One had to wonder what would've happened had Marty not been so persuasive, if Emmett had simply turned him away.

"_Just come with me and I'll show it to you," _the boy had pleaded_. "If you're still not convinced by the time we get there I'll never bother you again, but you will be convinced, Doc, because it'll absolutely blow your mind when you see it. So what do you have to lose?" _

Besides his dignity nothing, so he went with the weird kid in the life preserver against his better judgment. The whole way there wondering just how Future Boy had done that neat little trick. The Flux Capacitor was a nebulous idea that had just occurred to him twenty minutes ago. That he had barely had time to sketch out when he heard a knock at his door, hadn't even mentioned it _out loud, _and which this stranger knew all about.

It was spooky.

When he saw the flux capacitor fully realized, that it was something he could reach out and touch, that it was real and that it worked he had dropped to his knees. It wasn't just amazing, it was vindication. What had been a career rife with failure and disappointment now promised something beyond his wildest dreams. On the way back to his lab he was already planning expeditions to all his favorite historical time periods. To say he was excited was putting it mildly. He was in a feverish exaltation and talking non-stop about his theories on space/time while Marty politely listened. Everything was super, he was a god-damn genius, and he had—a—time—machine!

Then there came that awkward moment, the hint that maybe everything might not be so super. They had been sitting at a stop light and Emmett remembered being rather impatient as he wanted to get the machine home before anyone saw it, wanting to look at it, and _still _talking the poor guy's ears off when a nearby car backfired. Already in an excitable state-of-mind he had barely noticed it and would have quickly forgotten the matter if Future Boy hadn't froze suddenly and turned a noticeable shade whiter.

They sat there for awhile, not saying anything—the silence palpable except for the sound of the engine running. The kid slowly relaxed and sunk further down in his seat looking positively miserable. Finally Emmett quietly asked: "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine", he said shortly, "except I'm probably hallucinating all of this."

"How so?"

Future Boy gave him an incredulous look. "I'm stuck thirty years in the past! Does that sound normal to you?"

"I take it that you don't time travel often, then?"

"No, I just found out about it today… or yester—okay, very recently. You just sprung it on me actually. You never once mentioned building a time machine."

"Are you one of my students?"

"No."

"Then how is it that I know you?"

"We're just friends, Doc."

"I see…Well, er… I'm sorry. In all the excitement I didn't even catch your name!"

"It's Marty."

Emmett thrust out a hand, and each unsure of the other man, they shook hands. "Doctor Emmett Brown."

"Yeah, I know," Marty smirked, and the incredible thing was he did know. Of course he knew. This stranger knew a lot of things if what he had said was true. Suddenly Emmett was beginning to understand just who had ended up at his front door.

"Marty, do you realize what this means? This…This changes everything."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2: Jules and Verne

Tuesday

July 14, 1896

12:17 PM

Jules Brown lied on floor of the sitting room, in a spot directly under a cooling vent in the ceiling. Or as his Father called it, the "air conditioner", a system of ducts and tubes that ran throughout the Brown home and met downstairs in the cellar. He was also in nothing but his skivvies. It was perhaps not very dignified but as clever as his Father was, and Jules believed that his Father was _very _clever, his air conditioner wasn't a complete success. Still it was better than nothing during this seemingly endless heat wave, and Jules was quite content lying on his belly and reading his book.

It should be mentioned, but not outside the family circle, that the air conditioner was a secret. Even on the hottest days it was shut off when Mother had company over for tea and sandwiches. Secrets were okay, his parents had said, so long as it didn't hurt anybody. Little secrets like the laundry washer and the still-breaking-dishes dish washer that Mother absolutely refused to put the good china through.

While not all of his contraptions worked, Jules failed to understand why they should be a secret in the first place. He thought the laundry washer quite useful and even fun to watch. When he had been eight he had invited some boys from school to come see it and show them how smart his Father was. They were not friends but boys who had less than nice things to say about "that screwy blacksmith", and being insulted on his Father's behalf Jules was determined to prove them wrong by showing them the laboratory. His parents had been less than thrilled when they found them in there. Mother's mouth became a firm, thin line as she ushered the other boys out and Father looked ready to faint—when he had composed himself he was unusually stern. Lectures came often from Father but he was rarely upset and it had been one of those times when he was very upset.

"The door is a locked for a reason! You know that!"

"Yes," Jules mewed out.

"You also know that you are not allowed in there without me or your Mother, or touch anything!"

"Yes, Father…"

"So just _why_ did you do the exact opposite of what we told you?"

Because he would have said no to Dan Creevey and Bobby Randall being in there, but also because Jules was tired of all the insults directed at his family. Jules didn't mention that to his Father, wanting to spare his feelings, but his frustration remained. At the time he was too young to understand the why but he knew instinctually that his Father's more interesting work was not to be spoken about to anyone.

"I only wanted to show your inventions because you have wonderful things in there. Everybody should see them." It was a compliment meant to sooth his Father's temper but it was also an honest one. Father then got down on one knee and looked him in the eye, his expression grave.

"Nobody can, Jules. Ever."

"But why? What's the point of making all those things and not telling anybody?"

"Jules," he sighed. "Someday you'll understand, but for now I need you to do what I say. Do not tell anyone, not your friends or even a girl you like."

"Father! You know I hate girls! They're always giggling."

"Jules."

"Yes, alright! I won't tell anyone."

"Alright then."

"But why?" His Father sighed. "Are you and Mother criminals? Are you going to rob a bank?" He tried picturing his father with a handkerchief over his face and holding a man at gun point. Tried and failed, his Father would never do anything that exciting. "Do you work for the President? Is it top secret?"

"Yes…super top secret. So can I count on you?"

Jules took a moment to consider. Since it was for his country he supposed he had to do his civic duty. He nodded yes and they shook on it.

That had been three years ago and while he had never talked about his Father's work he still bristled at the slightest insult about his family. His Father was the designated town kook and Mother was considered unladylike, being so outspoken in front of the men folk. Jules himself got his fair share since the boys at school had decided it was funny to call him Julie instead of Jules. It was a name he hated, but he couldn't very well use his middle name Eratosthenes, that was decidedly worse. His parents had to have lost all common sense when they were coming up with names. Who cared about some long dead mathematician? What was wrong with 'Bill' or 'John'? His brother had better luck in that department. Verne was normal and everyone had heard of the Wizard of Menlo Park.

Jules Verne—good gravy! What was all the fuss over? It was nothing but a bunch of fantastical nonsense really. Everyone knows the center of the Earth is hot and nobody was ever going to the moon. Why would you even want to go? But his parents—despite being scientists—seemed to love flights of fancy, which was probably why his mother had picked this book out for him. He liked Mark Twain, but it was based on rather far fetched premise. Hank Morgan had awakened to find himself in medieval times with King Arthur and his knights only to be burnt at the stake. Thankfully for Morgan he had knowledge of future events to save himself.

"Jules!"

Jules looked up from his book in irritation. It was his brother of course. Verne had grass stains on his sailor suit, his bare feet were dirty, and he looked very pleased with himself. Verne was always pleased with himself.

"What?" Jules snapped.

"You have'ta take this to Pa. Mama said." Verne held out a paper sack.

"Fine."

"And I get to go with you," Verne grinned.

Jules growled, getting up off the floor. "What for? Can't you find anything else to do besides irritate me?"

"Nope. Besides, I want to go to the store and get some licorice and I can't go by myself. So get that bunch outta yer panties and put some pants on. I'm out of candy."

"You are so uncouth," Jules rolled his eyes in disdain. Why had the good Lord seen fit to saddle him with such an annoying little troglodyte as Verne? Why not wander the desert for forty years instead? At least he would have had privacy.

Book in hand Jules made his way to the bedroom they both shared to get dressed and as if to prove his point Verne followed.

"I have couth," Verne said crossly. "I have a bunch of couth. You're the one who doesn't have any. If you were a little nicer to people you might actually have a friend."

"I have friends, I'm just nice to everyone but you," Jules buttoned his trousers and gave his brother a frosty look. "And if you plan on going you had better change. I'm not going anywhere with you looking like that."

Verne looked down at his shirt and shrugged, sounding genuinely surprised.

"What?"

"Just do it or you can't come."

"Fine! Sheesh! Look, Jules, I'm changing," Verne pulled his shirt off and dropped onto the floor. "See?"

"Very good, Verne, I'd give you a cookie but I'm fresh out."

"Lord forbid I should embarrass you. It's bad enough people know we're related. I know how that bothers you."

"We're not related, Verne," Jules said smoothly, buttoning up his shirt "I thought my parents explained that to you."

"What are talking about?"

Jules turned to face his brother, doing his best to sound serious. Verne stood watching him warily not having put his pants on yet and face still dirty from doing who knew what. Knowing Verne, it was probably something stupid.

"You mean they never told you?" he asked quietly.

"Told me _what_? Spit it out why don't ya?"

"You're adopted, Verne. You're not actually a Brown."

"_What? _Oh you're teasing, Jules. Stop or I'll tell Mama."

"I'm not teasing," Jules said sympathetically. "Haven't you noticed the differences? Everyone in our family is scientifically inclined but you. You don't even look like us…"

"I do too!" Verne insisted, but not without a trace of doubt.

"No…sorry," he added melodramatically, "although come to think of it you do look like…No! That can't be true. It's too horrible to contemplate."

"_What?_"

"Slanted forehead, eyes too close together…You might actually be a Tannen!"

When Verne looked positively horrified by this Jules couldn't hold it in any longer and laughed.

"OH! I wish you'd disappear and never come back!"

"It's the big family secret," Jules laughed, picking up the bag that Verne had placed on his bed, which he hadn't bothered to make. How typical.

"I'm never speaking to you again!"

"Finally!"

Jules left his brother to stew and heard Verne's voice carry across the hall. He did not see the hurt expression on his face.

"You still have to take me!"

They bickered the whole way there. Past the McFly homestead, past the school, past the Woolworths, past the Courthouse—their fighting was so common that no one bothered to pay attention to it anymore. Now it could be said that brothers tended to quarrel but somehow the Brown Brothers outdid them all for the sheer amount of arguments in a day. The underlining source of this, if one were attempting to offer an explanation, was that they both wanted their Father's attention and thought the other sibling received more of it. This was not so, of course. Simply put, Emmett Brown spent most of his time not with them but with his work, either at the shop or in his lab. Supporting a family and moonlighting as a scientist at night had sadly left little time for family. The term workaholic hadn't been coined yet, but that was what Brown Sr. was—proof that it could happen even to the nicest of people.

This was a complicated thing and beyond his children's understanding, but their ignorance about what their Father was really doing in his lab was going to come to an end. When they had reached the smith shop the closed sign was hanging outside the door saying that their father would be back by noon. It was already past two.

"Where is he?" Verne asked, peeking through the wooden slates of the door.

"Well, you know how he gets, perhaps inspiration struck him and he simply didn't return to work."

"I guess so, but wouldn't we have seen him on the way home?"

Jules opened his mouth to respond to this but realized that Verne had a valid point. Unless Father had taken the long way they should have seen him. Uncertain how to proceed Jules looked around the square, as if Father would suddenly appear, and set eyes on the Palace Hotel and Saloon.

"Come on, maybe he went to get a drink."

They crossed the street and entered the saloon. A few men sat at a table, playing cards. A man sat at a piano in the corner playing what might have been Camptown Races. The bartender had looked up to see them enter, but did not argue against their presence as he knew who they were, but unfortunately their Father was not there.

Verne, being the boastful one, went straight up to the bar, sat down on a stool and pounded his tiny fist.

"Bartender, get me a whiskey!"

Jules rolled his eyes and went to fetch him. Mr. Chester Thomas, being of good humor, merely smiled and got out a shot glass.

"Why yes, sir, coming up," he pulled up a coca-cola bottle and poured it into the little glass. Verne sipped it carefully.

"What brings you gentleman here?"

"We're looking for our Father," Jules said importantly, "have you seen him today?"

"Yes, just this morning."

"It's just that he hasn't returned to work."

"Doesn't sound like him."

"Yes, I thought so too."

"He was awfully excited about somethin' though. Practically jumpin' up and down, bought everyone drinks."

Jules and Verne exchanged looks.

"If you see him would you tell him we were here?" Jules asked.

"Sure."

"Let's go, Verne."

"I'm not done with my drink yet," Verne pouted. Jules grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down from the stool.

"Take it with you then, you don't need that little glass to drink it."

"All right, already, it's just more fun this way is all."

"And you had better pay Mr. Thomas for that," Jules scolded.

"No need gents, on the house," Mr. Thomas said indulgently.

Verne beamed and said loudly: "Great! Thanks for the hooch, Chester, much obliged." He then skipped right out of the saloon. Everybody had a good chuckle—except Jules.

"Would you like a coca-cola too, son?"

"No, that's all right," Jules muttered. "Er, thanks. Sir."

They returned to the shop and seeing that their Father was still not there decided to go to Woolworths for Verne's licorice. On the way back home Verne had this to say:

"Wonder what Pa was so excited about?"

Jules shrugged.

"Maybe we're getting a baby brother?"

"Don't be dense. Why not tell us this morning with Mother?"

Jules swung the paper bag idly as he walked. Only until they were almost home did he become curious as to what was inside. The bag crinkled in his hands as he opened it to see a shiny metal something. He stopped for a moment as he took it out, the midday sun giving the shiny metal box a hard glare. There was a glass panel on one side, with big red tubes in the shape of a Y.

"What's that?" Verne asked.

"How should I know?"

"Because you know everything."

"I'm flattered, Verne, but no I don't."

Jules had the notion that this was for the President and quickly put it back in the sack. In a sudden fit of paranoia he searched the road to see if anyone was around.

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's get this back home."

"I like Dad and all, but he's a funny sort," Verne said with a sudden tone of apprehension.

"Where did that come from?!"

Verne gave him a conspiratorial look. "You know."

Jules averted his eyes away from his brother's, not knowing what to say to that. The only thing left to do was to keep walking and hope that for once Verne would drop the subject. They fell back into their idle pace, both thinking about their Father's occasional absences and how they had become more frequent lately.

"Definitely not a baby," Verne said.

"Probably over a doodad of his," Verne said again.

Later that evening as Jules and Verne sat out on the porch, their Father had finally returned home. Jules watched from a distance as Father put Tesla and Edison to bed in the stable, and made a slow trek towards the house. He hadn't made it in time for dinner again, and Jules worried that his father had forgotten to eat.

"Hello, boys," he called out.

"Hi, Dad," Verne said.

Father sat down on the swinging bench that hung suspended from the ceiling, and gave a great big yawn. Even in the dark, Jules could see his white hair stick out wildly, and every which way. Verne liked to say it was his humongous brainwaves that made their father's hair so unruly.

"So what were you so happy about?" Verne asked, rushing over to sit next to him.

"Hmm? What's that?"

"Today, Chester said you were so happy you bought everyone drinks."

Their father seemed to consider this for a second, then slowly shook his head.

"No, don't think I did."

"Well, gosh, Pa, are you sure? Maybe ya just forgot."

"Positive," Father said and wrapped an arm around Verne's tiny shoulders, drawing him close and lazily petting the top of his head. Verne curled up close to him, and Jules hated his brother for just one second.

"So what did you boys do today?"

"Not much," Jules said, shrugging halfheartedly, "just kid stuff."

"Hmm," Father said, closing his eyes and smiling a little, "I would very much like to hear about it."

"I finished that book Mother gave me."

"Which one was that?"

"Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court."

Father's smile widened, but his eyes remained closed. Verne too, seemed ready to fall asleep.

"I loved that book when I was a boy…"

Jules raised his brow at this. "Didn't it get published just this year?"

"Ah…Yes, of course…It certainly did, didn't it? Did you like it?"

"It was okay I guess. Pretty unrealistic though."

Father made a sound that would have been a laugh if he'd put a little more energy into it.

"Mother sent us to the shop to give you something, too, but you weren't there."

"Oh?"

"It looked important, so I put it on your desk."

"Hmm."

"Father, I think you should go to bed."

"Aw, gee, do I have to, son?"

"Unless you're planning to sleep outside, I would highly recommend it."

Father heaved a great big sigh and got up from the swing, scooping a sleepy looking Verne in one arm. The light from the windows made his hair glow like a halo, and he looked just as tired as he sounded. His Father opened the screen door for him and followed Jules into the house.

"It must be hard," Jules said quietly so as not to wake Verne, "working for the president."

Father looked at him and smiled uncertainly.

"Er…yes…I suppose it is."


End file.
